Chuck
by seano
Summary: Charlie Brown moves back home right before his 10-year high school reunion. With his career and friendships shattered what will happen when he is reunited with those he grew up with?
1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

It was a bright Saturday afternoon in mid-May, and Progressive Field in downtown Cleveland was surprisingly close to a sellout for a matinee game between the Cleveland Indians and the Kansas City Royals.

The national anthem had just been completed, and the Indians rushed out of the dugout to take their spots in the field. Charlie Brown was the last to leave the dugout, striding purposefully towards the pitcher's mound. He took in the scene as he kicked at the dirt that abutted the pitching rubber.

_I made it_, he thought to himself as he caught the ball from the catcher and prepared to take his warmup pitches. How many pitches had he thrown in his life to get to this point? 23 years old, and making his major league debut. From the little park down on the corner to the stadium at his high school to long bus rides in the minor leagues – thousands and thousands of pitches. All to get to this point. _I made it!_

"Batter up!" the umpire called. The leadoff hitter, a quick switch-hitter who loved to slap the ball to the opposite field, stepped into the batter's box.

Charlie Brown stared in at his catcher, who flashed the signs. Fastball, low and inside. Charlie Brown nodded, took a deep breath and exhaled. Into the windup, and then the pitch was away. At the knees, catching the inside corner of the plate. 92 miles an hour. Strike one.

Charlie Brown looked in again to get the signs. Fastball, high and away. Strike two. The Royal couldn't catch up to that one – 93 miles an hour.

The signs flashed across for the 0-2 delivery. Curveball. As the pitch left his hand, Charlie Brown could tell it wasn't perfect. It hung over the plate, just asking to be hit.

And it was.

A screaming line drive right back to the mound. Charlie Brown flailed as the ball whizzed past his head into center field for a single, his glove and hat flying into the air as he fell to the ground with a thud.

As Charlie Brown got up and collected his things, dusted off his pants, and tried to regain his composure, he heard a voice in the crowd.

"Welcome to the big leagues, kid!"


	2. Chapter 2

FIVE YEARS LATER

Charlie Brown shifted the Cadillac Escalade into park, grabbed the duffel bag from the passenger seat, and quickly exited the vehicle. It had been six long years since he had been to the little house on James Street, and little had changed about the building – a fact that was comforting, but also brought back a lot of sad memories.

No one had lived here for three years now, after his parents had moved full-time to Florida. Buying his parents a retirement condo in Naples was the first thing he had done with his $3 million signing bonus from the Indians for being selected with the eight pick in the draft. They spent a few years as snowbirds before finally cutting the cord with winter once and for all.

The maroon Escalade, purchased last October, represented the last bit of the bonus. It was all gone now. The bonus, frittered away on a too-large house in Scottsdale and too many offseason weekends in Las Vegas instead of working out at the gym. The professional baseball career was history, too. The Indians had let him scuffle through a few more starts in the majors after his major league debut, but ultimately he was demoted back to AAA ball with a 0-4 record and a 13.24 ERA.

Seven teams later, he was back here in Birchwood. His tryout last week with the independent Ocala Ocelots had been a bust. It was really over this time.

His pal Franklin – the only one from the old neighborhood who he still talked to – had done a great job keeping the place up. The pictures on the fireplace mantle were still the same. The large one in the middle showed the whole family from back in the day. Charlie was wearing his yellow and black zigzag-striped shirt, Sally in her blue dress, and Snoopy was there, too.

Charlie Brown let out a deep sigh and walked into the kitchen. He looked out the back window. The doghouse was still there. A little worse for the wear, perhaps, and definitely needing a fresh coat of paint.

He opened the refrigerator, and found a half-gallon of milk and a six-pack of beer staring back at him. There was a note attached to the beer. It read:

_Glad you're back in town. Give me a call. – Frank_

Charlie Brown pulled out his cell phone, swiped his way down through the contact list, until Franklin's name came up. His finger hovered over it for a moment, but then he thought better of it and put the phone back in his pocket.

_Not yet._

He grabbed one of the beers, twisted the top off and took a long drink. After tossing the bottle cap into the sink, he turned and walked down the hall towards the bedrooms. The first door on the right had the door closed. Sally's bedroom.

He put his hand on the door knob and paused for a moment. Another sigh, and then he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

The room was unchanged from the last time Sally had lived here six years ago. The posters of the hair bands still covered the walls. A picture of Linus was still in the corner of the dresser window. The closet doors were open, exposing hangers still full of polka dot clothing. Charlie Brown quickly closed the door, and walked further down the hall.

His old bedroom was next. It, too, was virtually unchanged from when he graduated from high school. Pennants lined the walls, and pictures of the baseball stars that he briefly got to stand among. He sat on the corner of his bed and took another long drink from the bottle. If he was going to live here again, things were going to have to change. Walking through the house was like a trip on some sort of miserable time machine.

His head hurt, so he walked across the hall to the bathroom. He pulled each drawer open, looking for something that could help. Finally, he found an old bottle of Tylenol. He spun it in his hands. Expired five years ago.

_It will have to do._

He flipped the lid off, and poured a half dozen or so into his hand. Quickly, he threw them into his mouth and washed them down with the last of the beer. It was only then that he looked in the mirror and took stock of things.

Charlie Brown was only 28, but he looked older, and felt even older than he looked. His head was still round, almost unnaturally so. His hairline had galloped back from his forehead rapidly over the last few years, which he blamed on bad genetics and on always wearing a baseball cap. What hair remained was trimmed to stubble, making him appear nearly bald.

Deep circles surrounded his eyes, and the eyes themselves were crisscrossed by lots of red blood vessels. He hadn't shaved in five days, leaving him in that uncomfortable space between intentional stubble and trying to grow a beard.

The hooded sweatshirt was a little ragged, with one string hanging out of the hood about three times as far as the one on the other side.

"Rats," was all that Charlie Brown could say, turning to head back to the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Charlie Brown awoke to find himself lying on the couch with an empty pizza box on his chest and the remaining five beer bottles from Franklin spread out on the floor below him plus an empty whiskey bottle he had found in the pantry. The TV blared ESPN at "senior citizen with hearing loss" levels. He heard lawnmowers outside, and his head still hurt.

There was a knock at the door. He shoved the pizza box to the floor, and stumbled to the door. Opening it, he was greeted by Franklin's smiling face.

"Chuck!" Franklin yelled. "Great to see you, buddy!"

Charlie Brown reached out his hand, but Franklin bypassed it and gave his friend a big hug. Like Charlie Brown, Franklin had also been a superb athlete, earning a football scholarship. But a severe knee injury derailed his dreams of playing professionally, and he had returned to Birchwood and now owned a growing landscaping company. Two members of Franklin's crew were zooming across the lawn on their mowers.

"Good morning, Franklin."

"Just barely, Chuck," Franklin replied, peering around his friend and noticing the bottles and pizza box. "Looks like you had quite the return home."

"What do you mean?" Charlie Brown stammered. "Just barely?"

Franklin pointed to the clock on the living room wall.

"It's 11:53, Chuck. Morning is almost over."

"Oh."

"You all right?"

"Fine. Just different being back, you know. I haven't been back since…"

"I know, I know. Sitting in here drinking all night ain't gonna fix it, though."

"You got a better idea?"

"Of course I do," Franklin replied, still beaming. "Come out drinking with me tonight."

"I don't know."

"Sure you do. Just meet me at Louie's Tavern. Eight o'clock."

Bleary eyed, Charlie Brown just stared back at his friend.

"Come on Chuck," Franklin pleaded. "It'll be good for you."

"All right, Franklin. All right."

"Great! I'll see you tonight."

Franklin turned and walked back out towards the street.

"If you don't show, I'm coming to find you, Chuck."

Charlie Brown closed the door, laid back down on the couch and went back to sleep.

* * *

After sleeping another three hours and taking a hot shower, Charlie Brown felt a lot better. He unpacked his duffel bag, hanging up the eight identical hoodie sweatshirt and blue jean ensembles which represented his everyday wardrobe and even made a quick trip to the grocery store to stock up on Diet Coke, string cheese, Doritos, and frozen pizza.

Promptly at 8:13, he pulled the Escalade into the parking lot next to Louie's Tavern. Walking in the front door, he noted the poster for the band playing at the bar that night – some sort of 1980s-looking cover band named Neon Tempest.

_I should have brought earplugs_, he thought.

Louie's Tavern was a dive, and it had been here for decades. It was around the corner from the barber shop where Charlie Brown's father had worked. What was once a thriving middle-class neighborhood had fallen onto some hard times after the auto plant closed a decade ago.

He caught sight of Franklin in a booth along the left wall with a prime view of the stage, and went over to sit down.

"I was starting to wonder if you were going to show up," Franklin said, grabbing the pitcher of beer on the table and pouring a glass for Charlie Brown.

"Living in the past, Franklin? I mean, why are you down here?"

"Lighten up, Chuck. I think you'll like them."

Charlie Brown furrowed his brow at that, but the two friends talked for a while. Franklin had gotten married three years ago and had a six-month old son at home.

"What are you going to do now?" Franklin asked.

"I don't know, Franklin. I really don't. For the last ten years, my whole life has been baseball. And now it's gone."

"You knew that was going to happen at some point."

"Well, sure. But I never imagined I'd bounce out of the majors after six starts. That wasn't how it was supposed to be."

"Life doesn't always go the way it's supposed to be," Franklin responded. "Or maybe your life is going the way it's supposed to be, but it's just in your head."

"Seriously, Franklin? Now you're starting to sound like Linus."

Franklin paused for a moment. Should he go there?

"Have you talked to Linus?"

"Not now, Franklin," Charlie Brown responded, with a stern glare.

The guys from Neon Tempest walked by the booth on their way to the stage.

_What a bunch of fools_, he thought, noting their spandex outfits and teased out long hair.

Charlie Brown noted that Franklin gave a quick head nod to one of the guys as he walked by.

"You a fan of these guys?" Charlie Brown asked.

"I've seen them a few times. They do a great version of 'Dancing in the Dark'. Seriously, Chuck, relax. Live a little."

With that, the band kicked into their first song. 'Jump', by Van Halen. Charlie Brown had to admit they weren't too bad, although he secretly preferred Sammy Hagar to David Lee Roth.

Halfway into the song, Franklin leaned over the table.

"You don't recognize anyone here?"

Charlie Brown gave him a quizzical look.

"Here? No." He paused for a moment. "Should I?"

"The band, Chuck."

Charlie Brown scanned his eyes across the band. Nobody looked familiar. Wait - his eyes came back to the keyboard player.

"Schroeder?"


End file.
